"I can go to the theater as often as I please there, can't I?"

"We will see about that."

"How soon shall we move to the city?"

"As soon as business will allow. I must settle up your father's affairs here."

"Can't I go beforehand?"

"Would you leave me alone?" asked his mother, with a little touch of wounded affection, for she did feel attached to her son. He was the only one, indeed, for whom she felt any affection.

"You won't miss me, mother. It'll be awfully stupid here, and you know you'll be coming to the city as soon as you get through with the business."

Mrs. Preston was disappointed, but she should not have been surprised.

Her only son reflected her own selfishness.

"It would not look well for you to go to the theater just at the present," she said.

"Why not?"

"So soon after your father's death."

G.o.dfrey said nothing, but looked discontented. It was early to think of amus.e.m.e.nt, while his father lay yet unburied in the next room. He left the room, whistling. He could not gainsay his mother's objections, but he thought it hard luck.

A funeral in a country village is a public occasion. Friends and neighbors are expected to be present without invitation. Among those who a.s.sembled at the house were Mrs. Burke and Andy. They felt truly sorry for the death of Colonel Preston, who had been a friend to both.

Mrs. Preston saw them enter, and, notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, the thought intruded: "They're after the legacy, but they will be disappointed. I've taken good care of that."

G.o.dfrey saw them, also, and his thought was a characteristic one:

"What business has that Irish boy at my father's funeral? He ought to know better than to poke himself in where he is not wanted."

Even G.o.dfrey, however, had the decency to let this thought remain unspoken. The services proceeded, and among those who followed on foot in the funeral procession were Andy and his mother. It never occurred to them that they were intruding. They wanted to show respect for the memory of one who had been a friend to them.

On the day after the funeral Squire Tisdale called at the house, invited by Mrs. Preston. The squire had a smattering of law, and often acted as executor in settling estates.

"I invited you to come here, Squire Tisdale," said Mrs. Preston, "to speak about my affairs. Of course, it is very trying to me to think of business so soon after the death of my dear husband"--here she pressed her handkerchief to her tearless eyes--"but I feel it to be my duty to myself and my boy."

"Of course," said the squire, soothingly. "We can't give way to our feelings, however much we want to."

"That is my feeling," said Mrs. Preston, whose manner was wonderfully cool and collected, considering the grief which she desired to have it thought she experienced for her husband.

"Did Colonel Preston leave a will?" asked the squire.

"I don't think he did. He never mentioned making one to me. Did you ever hear of his making any?"

"I can't say that I ever did. I suppose it will be best to search."

"Won't it be more proper for you to make the search, Squire Tisdale?"

said the widow. "I am an interested party."

"Suppose we search together. You can tell me where your husband kept his private papers."

"Certainly. He kept them in his desk. I locked it as soon as he died; but here is the key. If there is a will, it is probably there."

"Very probably. We shall soon ascertain, then."

Squire Tisdale took the key, and Mrs. Preston led the way to her late husband's desk. A momentary fear seized her.

"What if there was an earlier will, or two copies of the last?" she thought. "I ought to have made sure by looking over the other papers."

But it was too late now. Besides, it seemed very improbable that there should be another will. Had there been an earlier one, it would, doubtless, have been destroyed on the drafting of the one she had found. She rea.s.sured herself, therefore, and awaited with tranquillity the result of the search.

The search was careful and thorough. Mrs. Preston desired that it should be so. Knowing the wrong she had done to Andy and his mother, as well as the town, she was unnecessarily anxious to appear perfectly fair, and a.s.sured Squire Tisdale that, had there been a will, its provisions should have been carried out to the letter.

"There is no will here," said the squire, after a careful search.

"I did not expect you would find one," said the widow; "but it was necessary to make sure."

"Is there any other place where your husband kept papers?"

"We will look in the drawers and trunks," said Mrs. Preston; "but I don't think any will be found."

None was found.

"Can I do anything more for you, Mrs. Preston?" asked the squire.

"I should like your advice, Squire Tisdale. I am not used to business, and I would like the aid of your experience."

"Willingly," said the squire, who felt flattered.

"As my husband left no will, I suppose the estate goes to my son and myself?"

"Undoubtedly."

"How ought I to proceed?"

"You should apply for letters of administration, which will enable you to settle up the property."

"Will you help me to take the necessary steps?"

"Certainly."

"I should like to settle the estate as rapidly as possible, as I intend to remove to Boston."

"Indeed? We shall be sorry to lose you. Can you not content yourself here?"

"Everything will remind me of my poor husband," said Mrs. Preston, with another application of the handkerchief to her still tearless eyes.

Squire Tisdale was impressed with the idea that she had more feeling than he had thought.